Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Honduras and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Tom Boy to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Mission of Burma. All the underground hits.
All Barbara Tucker tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Neil Young record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wally Richardson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Standells,
The Searchers,
Interpol,
The Saints,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Marvin Gaye,
Peter and Kerry,
Con Funk Shun,
Panda Bear,
These Immortal Souls,
the Association,
Swell Maps,
Main Source,
Saccharine Trust,
Ultravox,
The Skatalites,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Durutti Column,
Tom Boy,
Thee Headcoats,
The Music Machine,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
the Human League,
The Barracudas,
Subhumans,
Alice Coltrane,
Henry Cow,
Mars,
The Beau Brummels,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Icehouse,
Chrome,
The Moody Blues,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Laurel Aitken,
Minutemen,
Peter & Gordon,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Wasted Youth,
Oblivians,
Bill Wells,
Mission of Burma,
The J.B.'s,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Tomorrow,
Reagan Youth,
Babytalk,
Pere Ubu,
The Blues Magoos,
Lou Reed,
Nation of Ulysses,
Brass Construction,
Half Japanese,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Electric Prunes,
Sexual Harrassment,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Doobie Brothers,
Amon Düül,
Radio Birdman,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Eddi Front, Eddi Front, Eddi Front, Eddi Front.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.